Aunt Janes Nieces and Uncle John | Page 6

will do him oodles of good."
Major Doyle sighed.
"I misdoubt the wisdom of the trip," said he, "but I'll go, of course, if
you all insist. Over the Rocky Mountains and across the Great
American Desert in an automobile doesn't sound very enticing, but--"
"Haggerty says--"
"Never mind Haggerty. We'll find out for ourselves."
"And, after all," said Patsy, "there are the sunshine and roses at the end
of the journey, and they ought to make up for any amount of bother in
getting there."
"Girl, you're attempting to deceive me--to deceive your old Daddy,"
said the Major, shaking his head at her. "You wouldn't have any fun
riding to California in a palace car; even the sunshine and roses couldn't
excite you under such circumstances; but if there's a chance for
adventure--a chance to slide into trouble and make a mighty struggle to
get out again--both you and that wicked old uncle of yours will jump at
it. I know ye both. And that's the real reason we're going to travel in an
automobile instead of progressing comfortably as all respectable people
do."
"You're a humbug," retorted Mr. Merrick. "You wouldn't go by train if
I'd let you."
"No," admitted the Major; "I must be on hand to rescue you when you
and Patsy go fighting windmills."
CHAPTER III
MYRTLE DEAN
"We were due in Denver three hours ago, and it's an hour's run or more

yet," remarked Beth De Graf, walking briskly up and down the
platform of a way station where the train had stopped for orders.
"And it's beginning to snow," observed Patricia Doyle, beside her. "I'm
afraid this weather isn't very propitious for an automobile trip."
"Uncle John doesn't worry," said Beth. "He believes there is perpetual
sunshine west of Denver."
"Yes; a man named Haggerty told him. But you'll notice that Daddy
doesn't seem to believe the tale. Anyhow, we shall soon know the truth,
Beth, and the trip is somewhat on the order of a voyage of discovery,
which renders it fascinating to look forward to. There is such fun in not
knowing just what is going to happen next."
"When one travels with Uncle John," returned Beth, smiling, "she
knows exactly--nothing. That is why I am always eager to accept if he
invites me to go anywhere with him."
The passengers thronging the platform--"stretching their legs" after the
confinement of the tedious railway journey--eyed these two girls
admiringly. Beth was admitted a beauty, and one of the society journals
had lately announced that she had few peers in all the great metropolis.
Chestnut brown hair; dark, serious and steady eyes; an exquisite
complexion and rarely regular features all conspired to render the
young girl wonderfully attractive. Her stride was athletic, free and
graceful; her slender form well poised and dignified. Patsy, the
"plug-ugly," as she called herself, was so bright and animated and her
blue eyes sparkled so constantly with fun and good humor, that she
attracted fully as much attention as her more sedate and more beautiful
cousin, and wherever she went was sure to make a host of friends.
"See!" she cried, clasping Beth's arm; "there is that lovely girl at the
window again. I've noticed her ever since the train left Chicago, and
she is always in the same seat in that tourist coach. I wonder why she
doesn't get out for a bit of fresh air now and then."
Beth looked up at the fair, girlish face that gazed wistfully from the

window. The unknown seemed very young--not more than fourteen or
fifteen years of age. She wore a blue serge suit of rather coarse weave,
but it was neat and becoming. Around the modest, sweet eyes were
deep circles, denoting physical suffering or prolonged worry; yet the
lips smiled, wanly but persistently. She had evidently noticed Uncle
John's two nieces, for her eyes followed them as they marched up and
down the platform and when Patsy looked up and nodded, a soft flush
suffused her features and she bowed her head in return.
At the cry of "all aboard!" a scramble was made for the coaches and
Beth and Patsy, re-entering their staterooms, found their Uncle and the
Major still intent upon their interminable game of cribbage.
"Let's go back and talk to the girl," suggested Patsy. "Somehow, the
poor thing seems lonely, and her smile was more pathetic than
cheerful."
So they made their way through the long train to the tourist coach, and
there found the girl they were seeking. The surrounding seats were
occupied by groups of passengers of rather coarse caliber, many being
foreign laborers accompanied by their wives and children. The air in
the car was close and "stuffy" and the passengers seemed none too neat
in their habits and appearance. So the